Guilt Complex
by Aelin Nicolo Winchester
Summary: "He does not feel guilty because of any kind of complex or other psychobabble crap. He feels guilty because he is guilty." One-shot set after season 2. Rated T for a little bit of language and alcohol.


**Guilt Complex**

 **A/N:**

 **In case y'all were wondering, this is set two weeks after season 2, but I'm ignoring the part where Matt went to Karen at the end in canon.**

 **I own nothing.**

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Matt didn't have a guilt complex. He only felt guilty about things he was responsible for. Other people couldn't always see that, because they couldn't see the bigger picture; they didn't understand _why_ he was responsible. It was because he was capable of preventing most of the bad things that happened to him.

Matt knew for a fact that Maggie Murdock leaving had broken his dad's heart, and it happened because she didn't want to be his mom.

His dad had to raise a blind kid alone. That was expensive and hard. If Matt had just been a little faster, the accident never would've happened. His dad might not have had to spend his life losing fights he should've won if he didn't have to pay for Matt's disability. Then, his dad died for _him_ , so he could be proud of him. Except that he wouldn't have been killed for winning that fight if Matt hadn't been blind.

Stick left because he wasn't good enough. He had been so stupid, thinking of Stick like family, and expecting him to return the feeling. He should have realized that Stick wanted a soldier, not a son, then maybe - _maybe_ he could've become that in time. Maybe he could've been good enough. But he hadn't seen it, because he was and always had been a damned fool.

Foggy, though… Foggy had stayed for longer than most. Longer than he'd initially expected. After a while, he'd actually started to believe that Foggy would stay. He should've known better. Eventually, although it took years, even Foggy got wise and got away from him.

So had Karen, though it hadn't taken nearly as long. She had always been smart, and she wasn't as blindly trusting as Foggy. She had eventually seen through him and realized that he was the kind of person who broke the people that cared about him. He never meant to, but it always happened.

Elektra left the first time, all those years ago, because he handled the situation with Roscoe Sweeney all wrong. He hadn't _thought_ before he spoke, and he'd ended up pushing her away. And in the end, after she came back (and, God, _she came back!_ ) after he promised to follow her wherever she went, she went to the one place he couldn't follow just yet. Because of his stubbornness, because she was loyal to him, she died.

Elektra, a dark, wild force of nature who even Stick himself couldn't tame, had chosen _Matt_ of all people, and he had tried so hard to be worth it, to help her realize that _she_ was worth it. Because she was the only one who knew exactly who and what he was, dark spots and cracks and all, and still loved every part of him. When he was with her, he was free in a way he had never been, because for once in his life he didn't have to pretend, even a little. He had loved it, and he had loved _her_ in a way he never had with Karen or Claire. _Freely_ , his mind supplied. Yes. Yes, he had loved her freely. Before Elektra, he had thought he was incapable of loving like that.

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and she was dead because of him.

He knew that now - it was his own stubbornness that had killed her. However, at the time all the rage and hate that had filled him the moment he heard silence where her heartbeat should have been had needed an outside target, and that target was Nobu, the man who killed her.

He had killed Nobu that day two weeks ago. He hadn't done it again since, but it had left yet another mark in his already scarred, ugly mind (he refused to say heart or _soul_ or anything that freaking cheesy, which was yet another sign that he really needed to go to church, not that he planned to) that he knew would never fade. But it was his own fault. He had chosen to kill Nobu, and he could tell himself it was necessary all he wanted, but that wouldn't change the fact that the only reason he'd had on his mind when he did so was revenge.

Everything that happened to him was his own fault. He just wasn't the kind of person people stuck around their whole lives. He supposed it was because they were smart enough to see that the people who stayed with him got hurt, and he wasn't worth the pain. And the people who thought he _was_ worth the pain, the people who stayed, they too were eventually ripped away from him somehow. And when that happened, it always seemed to be his fault too.

During their time as friends, Foggy had taught him that he didn't have to be completely independent, that accepting help and making friendships and learning to love didn't make him weak. It made him strong.

But Matt didn't feel strong now, drawing another swig of whiskey from the bottle in his apartment at five in the morning when he should be catching up on the sleep he'd missed beating up bad guys last night. He felt stupid, weak, and naive. He couldn't believe he'd _actually thought_ that he could be with Elektra. He couldn't believe he'd actually thought he could be happy.

He couldn't believe he'd actually thought he could be free.

Matt downed another gulp, only to find that the bottle, which had been half-full when he started, was empty.

He deserved this. He deserved to be alone. Trying to be anything else had been selfish, and giving into his stupid, _human_ longing for friends and love had been weak.

Matt didn't bother trying to get up to put the empty bottle up. His senses were completely screwed thanks to the alcohol, and would be until the morning, when they would instead be screaming in pain. He deserved that too.

It occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that if he was attacked right now he would have about as much chance at winning as a regular blind man. It also occurred to him that he absolutely could not risk doing this (getting drunk off his ass in his apartment and letting his thoughts take a steep downward spiral) again. This was dangerous, both because of what he was incapable of doing (defending himself) and what he was capable of doing (far too much) in this state. However, those thoughts were very distant and blurred by the alcohol, so Matt let them go without too much struggle. They would probably come back to him the next morning, but right now he couldn't bring himself to think of anything.

Matt drifted off to sleep right there, sitting on his couch with an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and one thought floating certainly in his mind:

He does not feel guilty because of any kind of complex or other psychobabble bullshit. He feels guilty because he is guilty.

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 **A/N:**

 **Oh, Mattie, my poor small avocado.**

 **Writing this was both physically painful and fun in a twisted way. It was also probably one of the best things I've written in a while. Please, please review, guys!**

 **And happy New Year to anyone reading this the day it was posted.**


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